Like A Rock
by Callypse
Summary: Bruce will always come.
1. My Walk Had Purpose

The light snoring from the seat beside him was a comfort Bruce found he had quickly grown used to. For all his incredible feats as Robin, Dick never seemed able to stay awake for the trip back to the Cave; he'd get in the car all wound up from the adrenaline, then promptly fall asleep within ten minutes. Bruce still wasn't sure whether to attribute that to the boy's unusual extracurricular schedule, or if it was just Dick.

Nevertheless, he took care on the curves approaching the Manor, not wishing to wake his sleeping sidekick. The boy was so rarely still, Bruce found that he had little opportunity to just look at him, and appreciate his presence. To remember what it was like to be an orphaned 12-year-old, and to vow anew every night to give Dick the happiness he had never know. To be grateful for the light that Dick was bringing him now.

The car slowed almost imperceptibly until it came to a gentle stop. Removing his cowl, Bruce came around to the passenger door and caught the slumped figure as the door gave way. Dick hardly stirred as Bruce adjusted his hold and began the journey to his ward's bedroom.

The stairs to the Manor were slippery, but Bruce's boots were sure against the cool limestone. The lights were bright in the kitchen, but Bruce's hand found the switch before Dick could wake. The wooden boards were known to creak and squeal their age, but Bruce knew where he could walk silently. Dick slumbered undisturbed until he was in his room.

"Dick."

Dark lashes parted to slowly reveal blue eyes as Bruce gently set him on his feet. The boy swayed for a moment in his fatigue and blinked blearily at his guardian.

"I fall asleep again?" He looked apologetic despite Bruce's smirk. "Why didn't you just wake me up? I could've walked…"

"I thought it best to let you rest. You need more sleep than you've been getting."

Dick waved a hand dismissively even as a yawn split his face. "Nah, I'll sleep when I'm dead."

Bruce let that thought pass before he could dwell on it. "You'd better not sleep in your uniform again. You know how Alfred feels about that."

Dick laughed. "Hey, I never asked him to iron my tunic. And it's not like it doesn't already get wrinkled on patrol."

"Just wear your pajamas, Dick."

"Yes, sir." Despite the apparent effort, Dick sighed in relief as he traded his costume for soft pajamas and all but fell onto the bed. After a moment's hesitation Bruce moved closer and drew the covers up to Dick's chin.

"Sleep well, Dick. I'll see you in the morning." Dick murmured agreement.

The light was already off and Bruce was just drawing the door shut when he heard Dick mumble his name.

"Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"What are you gonna do when I'm too big to carry?"

"You won't be." Bruce's eyes traced over Dick's face, eyes already closed and features slack with exhaustion. He wondered if Dick even knew what he was saying.

"Someday I'll be as big as you. Too big for you to carry."

Bruce re-entered the room and ran a gentle hand over Dick's face, pulling the blankets tighter around him.

"Never."

Dick smiled slightly as though pleased, and Bruce felt his own lips curl upwards. He stepped outside the room and tugged the door closed after him, casting one final look at the boy already lost to sleep.

"I'll just have to get stronger."


	2. Where They've Gone

The alarm in his cowl was a sound Bruce could never grow used to, though it had been a necessary evil for years. It was a distress call, one of his boys caught in a bad situation and requiring immediate assistance. Though the beeping in his ear was mellow, almost calming, all Bruce ever heard was _get me out._

It took four minutes for Batman to make it to Nightwing's location, and the sight of the young vigilante lying prone on the floor ensured a quick, violent dispatch of the Scarecrow. Moments later they were in the car and en route to the Cave, the Batcomputer already running an analysis on the unconscious hero's blood. The heavy thumping of Bruce's heart only slowed when the computer reported the antidote Nightwing had administered to himself was counteracting the effects of the gas, albeit sluggishly. He was going to be all right.

Just as he had done so many years ago, Bruce brought the car to a gentle stop in the heart of the Cave. Raising the hydraulic passenger door, he eased Dick out of the car and into his arms, careful to support the young man's head. The Cave was mostly dark, Alfred having already retired for the night, and Bruce bypassed the med bay in favor of the stairs. Dick would rest much better in his room than in the clinical cot Bruce tried so hard to keep his family out of.

Bruce's boots traversed silently over the rocky stairs of the Cave, the polished hardwood of the Manor foyer, and finally the plush carpet of the second floor hallway. He paused in the doorway of Dick's old room, decorated as if he were still 18 and coming home between semesters. He wondered if Dick still thought of this house as home.

Bruce lifted one hand to flick on the light switch, and Dick stirred at the movement and influx of light, the drugs in his system slowing his awareness. Bruce waited for the dazed blue eyes to focus, smirking at the dopey grin spreading across Dick's face.

"Y'found me," Dick slurred. "Wasn't sure you'd come…" Dick's limbs twitched as he became aware of his position in Bruce's arms. A faint flush rose on his cheeks as he tried to free himself from the man's grasp.

"Jeez, Bruce," he muttered as his feet finally hit the floor. "You didn't have to carry me. I could have walked." He turned his back as he began to strip out of his costume.

Bruce didn't seem to know what to do with his arms now that they were empty. He settled for removing his gauntlets, tucking them into his belt.

"It's no trouble, Dick," he replied quietly. "You're not much of a burden."

Dick spun back to face him, eyes flashing with emotions Bruce hoped could be attributed to Scarecrow's gas. He watched with concern as Dick's expression slowly returned to neutral, chest rising and falling in a much less alarming fashion. Bruce wished he hadn't removed the cowl and that Dick was still Nightwing, so that he could demand a status report. It was so much easier than asking if his former ward was ok.

Dick finally broke their gaze and sank onto his bed, pulling an old t-shirt over his head and running a hand through his hair. When he didn't say anything, Bruce moved to sit beside him.

"Dick," he began, staring straight ahead and knowing Dick was doing the same. "I'm not very good at…saying things sometimes." Dick snorted and Bruce smiled apologetically. "But I need you to know that I will always come for you. I will always find you. And, when you need it, I will carry you."

Several moments passed, and Bruce was sure he'd said the wrong thing, that nothing he could say would ever be enough. But just as he began to get up, Dick's voice came, low and quiet.

"And you?"

Bruce turned to find Dick's eyes, bright with emotion, searching his face.

"What about me?"

"When you need to carry me?"

Bruce felt a lump constrict his throat and fought to keep his expression smooth, knowing he was failing miserably and that Dick needed to see it.

"Yes, Dick," he whispered. "When I need it, I will carry you."

Dick half-laughed, half-sobbed, and Bruce put an arm around his son.


End file.
